


what is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?

by jamesiee



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Dark!Jack, Death, Gore, Halloween, Halloween horror - Freeform, Hand Jobs, Horror, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Rough Sex, Serial Killers, Violence, alternative universe, dark!Bitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 05:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12550228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesiee/pseuds/jamesiee
Summary: Jack digs.In. Step. Wiggle. Lift. Throw.Repeat.It’s relaxing in a way that only hard, physical work can be. He hated this the first time he did it, but Jack’s since learned the most efficient way to dig. People are very willing to give suggestions to those who look lost and confused in hardware stores after all so Jack’s since upgraded from the square shovel he got first to a more pointed one made for breaking ground, and he started wearing heavy work gloves to dig after someone saw the bloody blisters on his hands and made the suggestion.Bitty is why Jack digs.Prompt fill forOMGCPUMPKINSCheck, Please! Halloween Fest





	what is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Hamlet Act V, Scene i, lines 41-42](http://shakespeare-navigators.com/hamlet/H51.html)
> 
> Pairing: Jack/Bitty
> 
> For [ OMGCPUMPKINS](http://omgcpumpkins.tumblr.com) Check, Please! Halloween Fest 
> 
> uhh, i think i got all the tags in, but please yell at me if ive missed something. there's a graphic depiction of an unnamed character death (character murder? he's murdered) but if you wanna skip the murder-y bit, stop reading at "Jack falls to his knees..." and start again at "Bitty gets up..."
> 
> unbeta'd so any and all mistakes are mine

I. 

 _Thy soul shall find itself alone_  
_'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;_  
_Not one, of all the crowd, to pry_  
_Into thine hour of secrecy._

 _-_ Spirits of the Dead, Edgar Allen Poe

 

* * *

 

Jack digs.

In. Step. Wiggle. Lift. Throw.

Repeat.

It’s relaxing in a way that only hard, physical work can be. He hated this the first time he did it, but Jack’s since learned the most efficient way to dig. People are very willing to give suggestions to those who look lost and confused in hardware stores after all so Jack’s since upgraded from the square shovel he got first to a more pointed one made for breaking ground, and he started wearing heavy work gloves to dig after someone saw the bloody blisters on his hands and made the suggestion. He’s got calluses now. It took a couple of times but eventually Jack also traded his yellow sneakers for work boots once he figured out that the heavier shoe made getting the shovel deeper into the earth easier.  

At this point, it’s basically muscle memory. The shovel goes in. Step down on the edge. Wiggle the dirt free. Lift with your knees. Throw the loose dirt on the pile.

Digging is easy work, mindless really, but it’s rewarding in it’s own way. Jack’s always admired people who did this sort of physical work, whose muscles are for more than looking at.

In. Step. Wiggle. Lift. Throw.

Repeat.

In. Step. Wiggle-

Jack’s bent over, bracing himself to pull up a shovelful of dirt when something shifts in the air. The crickets and katydids stop chirping, and Jack is far enough away from the road that he can’t hear any cars. The only sound is his own breathing, heavy from the physical activity and harsh against the quiet of the night.

“Oh now, don’t be stopping on my account.”

Jack doesn’t jump like he did the first time he heard the voice. He tightens his grip on the shovel though and huffs out a breath. He kicks the shovel in deeper to get more dirt and squats slightly to loosen it. He braces himself again and the lifts the dirt out. It should go on the neat pile he’s been making all night but that’s where the voice came from so Jack throws the dirt to the side, wincing when he hears it miss the tarp he purposefully set out. He pulls himself out of the hole he’s been digging and then Jack drives the shovel blade first into the fresh dirt, getting it deep enough to stand by itself.

“You’re late,” he says, pulling up the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe at his sweaty forehead. The air is cold against his abs, the fabric sticking uncomfortably against his overheated skin when he drops it again. He takes off his gloves and sticks them in his back pocket.

Call-me-Bitty uncrosses his legs and stands up. He brushes the dirt off his—tight, Jack can’t help but notice—pants and finally drags his gaze away from Jack’s stomach and to his face. Bitty pulls down the black hood of the hoodie he wears. It hangs off his small frame, the sleeves long enough to cover Bitty’s hands, but the fabric is pulled tight across his shoulders. Jack’s not looking at his hands though, knows enough now that it’s better if he watches Bitty’s face. Bitty’s eyes look practically black in the moonlight. They might actually be for all Jack knows; he’s never seen him in the day.  

“Am I?” Bitty asks, grinning widely. His teeth shouldn’t be that white. The moonlight glints off them and Jack is suddenly reminded how alone they are out here. Jack clears his throat, slightly uncomfortable with the directness of Bitty’s stare. Bitty licks his lips.

“It’s been a busy night,” Bitty continues. Jack frowns but doesn’t take the step back he wants to when Bitty steps into his space. He smells like dead leaves and fresh dirt. Jack isn’t entirely sure if that’s actually what Bitty smells like or if it’s just all Jack can smell after the hours of digging.

“Looks good.” Bitty nods over Jack’s shoulder.

Jack feels his face heat up at the praise. This delights Bitty if the way his smile widens is anything to go by. It shouldn’t be an attractive smile, too wide and too many teeth, but Bitty’s halo of blond hair softens the look and Jack feels the pull of something in his stomach. Bitty notices this too and he steps even closer to Jack, bracing himself with a hand on Jack’s chest. It’s a hunger in his stomach, Jack recognizes, but not one for food. His heart is pounding. He honestly can’t tell if it’s from excitement or nerves. Bitty tilts his head, like he can figure out which just from listening.

“You’re still nervous,” Bitty murmurs after a moment of staring up at Jack. “After all this time, you don’t trust me?” Bitty bats his eyelashes as he chews on his lip thoughtfully, and if it weren’t for the fact that they’re out in the middle of the woods, Jack would probably find the movement sweet. Bitty seems to follow his train of thought. His teeth let his lip go as his smile takes on a wicked glint.

“You shouldn’t,” Bitty says.

Jack doesn’t care.  

Bitty knows.

He pulls Jack down by the shirt for a biting kiss. Jack goes completely willingly.

It’s a clash of teeth first, just on this side of painful before Bitty settles down and uses more tongue than teeth, threading his fingers through Jack’s hair so he can angle him how he wants. Jack doesn’t mind. He can’t hold back the moan that comes out when Bitty starts sucking on his tongue though. He shifts one foot forward to get one of Bitty’s thighs between his legs. Jack wants to shift his hips, find some friction against Bitty, but he still has bruises on his hips from the last time he tried to get something before Bitty was ready to give it to him, so he waits.

Bitty’s hands finds their way to either side of Jack’s face. His thumbs slide over Jack’s cheekbones, petting the thin skin there, while he holds Jack at the perfect angle for Bitty’s biting kisses. His hands are cold, as always, and his calluses are rough. It’s almost embarrassing how Jack keens into the touch, but Jack’s pretty sure Bitty likes it just as much, if how Bitty groans against Jack’s lips is any indication. The sound makes Jack brave so he presses back against Bitty, nipping a little at him between kisses.

When Bitty chuckles, it’s a dark sound but it goes right to Jack’s stomach and then further down, tightening something inside him that reminds him why he’s out here, why he digs. Bitty’s hands drop from Jack’s face to his shoulders and he doesn’t even have to press hard to get Jack to sink down to his knees.

Bitty doesn’t wear a belt for Jack to fumble with so it’s just a flick of the button and pulling Bitty’s pants down his thighs and then Jack is staring at Bitty’s cock. He doesn’t wear underwear either. He’s not all the way hard yet, not like how Jack feels himself throbbing in his pants, so Jack licks his palm and jacks Bitty a couple of times to get him there. He palms at his own crotch in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there. Bitty steps closer so that the toe of his boot presses into Jack’s erection. His cock is right in Jack’s face so he opens his mouth and takes it as deep as he can.

Bitty makes a sound like the breath has been punched out of him and he shallowly moves his hips a couple times before thrusting deeper down Jack’s throat. Jack blinks back the tears that spring to his eyes. He uses Bitty’s thighs for balance, shifting slightly so that Bitty’s foot is right in the v of his own legs, and breathes through his nose. 

He didn’t use to be able to do this, but now he can keep his throat open for Bitty to fuck while he rubs himself off. He finds his rhythm and balance and brings a hand up to Bitty’s balls. He plays with them, feels them drawing up to Bitty’s body. His hand drifts back along Bitty’s taint before finding Bitty’s hole. He teases Bitty, circling it dry once, twice, and then pulls off Bitty’s cock and leans back to just mouth at the head. Jack puts his hands back on Bitty’s thighs, rubbing through the wiry hairs there.

“Now that’s not nice,” Bitty says.

Jack looks up from under his lashes to find Bitty staring down at him. As they make eye contact, Bitty lifts his toe, pressing it hard against Jack’s dick and Jack almost comes right there, but he likes making Bitty come first so he hollows out his cheeks and takes Bitty down to the root again. Bitty presses his thumb into Jack’s cheek, and rubs the skin like he was doing earlier. Jack pulls off and angles it so that Bitty’s cock hits the inside of his cheek. Bitty groans. His fingers go into Jack’s hair and Jack takes the hint to swallow Bitty down again. He doesn’t immediately taste when Bitty comes but Bitty’s thighs tense and the salty tang is soon all Jack can taste.

He swallows what doesn’t leak out before catching what does with his right hand and shoving it into his own pants. He can’t chance getting his cock out and leaving more than he means to behind so Jack jacks himself off in his boxers, watching Bitty tuck himself back into his pants.

Bitty pulls on his hair so he’s looking up at him and, with a strength that still catches Jack off guard, pulls him to his feet. Bitty keeps eye contact with Jack while he licks his own palm. He somehow gets his hand in Jack’s boxers too, batting away Jack’s hand to squeeze his own around Jack’s cock. He’s rougher than Jack is but it feels good, so good, that it doesn’t take long for Jack’s brain to white out as he comes.

When Jack comes back to himself, his breathing is the only thing he can hear again. He’s worried for a minute that Bitty left, but there’s a hand carding through his hair and Jack remembers that Death doesn’t have to breathe.

“You gonna give me what I came for?” Bitty asks.

“I thought you already came?” Jack says, but he pulls away from Bitty and starts in the direction of his truck. There’s not much of a path to follow, he’s the only who’s come this way beside the animals, but Jack has spent a lot of time in these woods, knows where to step to avoid leaving behind any trace of himself.  

“Is that a sense of humour Mr. Zimmermann?” Bitty asks, catching up to Jack. He doesn’t make a sound on the ground either, but it’s not because of his familiarity with the area. Jack shrugs and keeps walking, trying not to get distracted by Bitty’s grin. Jack can feel Bitty’s gaze on him. He trips over nothing but doesn’t fall. Bitty’s hands are cold, even through the flannel that Jack is wearing.

Jack’s truck is the only one in the dirt parking lot that’ll be filled with early morning joggers when the sun rises. His footprints get lost among those from earlier in the day as he crosses the lot and will be completely erased when the parking lot gets busy again, something that Jack counts on when he comes out here. Bitty doesn’t leave any footprints.

Bitty leans against the bed of the truck and watches as Jack manually unlocks the passenger’s side door. The truck is new enough that he has a key fob that works, but the flash of headlights would ruin whatever mood there is, so he clicks the key into the lock instead. Something in the back of the cab moves around, and there’s a muffled groan, but Jack isn’t worried about it yet.

He leans into the cab and twists to pull the lock on the passenger side rear door. The groans get louder and the movements more violent; the truck has started to bounce with the movements. Jack adds to the bouncing as he hoists himself up so he can reach across the seat to where he’s stashed his good hunting knife. He puts that in his back pocket and slides back out to slam the passenger door while he can get what he needs from the bed of the truck. Bitty catches his arm as he passes him. He stares at Jack’s bicep as he squeezes it.

“You good, sweetpea?” Bitty asks, dragging his eyes away to look up at Jack. He wears concern well, Jack thinks, dark eyes wide, but the grip Bitty has on his arm pinches, ruining the innocent picture the freckles across Bitty’s nose paint.

Jack clears his throat and nods. Bitty lets him go, pats what will surely become a bruise, and Jack continues around to the back where he climbs up on the tailgate to reach for the other tarp he put back there. He feels Bitty’s eyes on him the entire time he lays it out on the dirt. Bitty steps on the corner closest to him when the wind picks up and threatens to blow it away.

“Thanks,” Jack mumbles, pulling his work gloves back on.

Jack finally opens the backdoor and reaches in. The muffled groans have become muffled shouts and Jack is very glad he’s learned how to properly gag people now. The first time he did this involved too much blood after the gag slipped and his knife blindly stabbing was the only way he could think of to silence the scream.

Even with the gag, the man Jack had spent the better part last night following is loud, thrashing in the foot space of the back seat. His head and shoulders are closest to Jack so Jack leans in and gets a grip under the man’s arms, grabbing tighter when the man tries to twist away in the small space. He shouts something that gets lost to the fabric stuffed in his mouth, and unsuccessfully tries to hook a foot under the driver’s seat so Jack can’t move him. It’d be more annoying if Jack didn’t like the challenge of the fighters.

The man hits the tarp hard when Jack throws him down. With his hands tied together in front of him, he can’t catch himself so his head snaps back against the ground and he’s stunned for the couple seconds it takes Jack to close the truck door. He tries to roll onto his stomach when Jack turns back around, but Jack stops that easily with a boot to his side. It takes a couple more kicks before the man stops fighting and stays motionless on his back. Jack pushes his sweaty bangs out of his face while he bends down to check the man’s pulse. He’s still breathing so at least Bitty hasn’t left without Jack noticing.

Jack drops to his knees for the second time tonight and straddles the man’s chest, knees just bracketing his shoulders. The man tries to buck Jack off, but Jack backhands him hard enough that his head snaps to the side and Jack’s knuckles actually sting a little bit. He’s pretty sure he broke skin, but can’t see anything through his glove. Jack settles back on the man, far enough down his body that the man won’t be able to get any leverage to try and buck Jack off again, and feels how laborious the man’s breathing is now. He probably has a couple broken ribs, and his nose is definitely broken. He’ll choke on the blood that must be dripping down his throat soon. The gag isn’t helping his chances either, but Jack has no plans to remove it.

The man wheezes and tries to to dislodge Jack again when Jack shifts up to grab his knife but Jack’s clamped his thighs tight around the guy and won’t let himself be thrown off. The man glares and twists and his defiance of fate might be more impressive if Jack couldn’t feel the way his whole body is trembling. The man stops fighting suddenly and his eyes go wide enough that Jack can see himself reflected in the whites.

“Hush now,” Bitty says, pressing himself against Jack’s back. His voice is low in Jack’s ear, and though he isn’t speaking to Jack, Jack has a hard time concentrating on more than how Bitty’s voice rumbles in his chest. “It’s time for you to go.”

The man makes a high pitched noise against his gag and Jack realizes he’s screaming for his life in the face of Death.

Jack wonders briefly what Bitty looks like when Bitty’s voice goes that rough, like he was the one who’d just had a cock down his throat, but Jack’s never been brave enough to look directly at Death like that.

He still isn’t.

Instead, he takes his knife and thrusts it into of the man’s neck, into his jugular. The muffled scream turns into a gurgle and Jack drives the knife deeper, moving it side to side to make sure he’s hit everything important. Bright blood paints the man’s neck and normally Jack would jump back to avoid getting it on his clothes, he uses a tarp for a reason, but Bitty is a hard line against his back so he can’t go anywhere. He’s not sure he wants to.

Jack watches the life bleed from the man, watches his eyes fade until they’re just two orbs, open and unseeing. Bitty makes a sound, deep in his throat, and any colour that was left in the man’s body fades all at once, like he’s been bleached by the sun. Jack blinks, but he knows his eyes aren’t playing a trick on him.

Bitty gets up, and though he’s never produced any body heat when he touches Jack, Jack misses the contact. Jack gets up then too, gets off the dead body. He leans down and pulls the knife free, grimacing at the sound it makes. It’s louder than he expects. He wipes as what he can on the man’s shirt, mostly clean where Jack was sitting on him, before sheathing the knife and tucking it back into his pants. He’ll have to do a deep clean when he gets home. Bitty watches him.

“You always make it so good for me,” Bitty says, softly. Jack finally looks at him. He looks like he normally does, cowlicks and all, though his eyes are brighter than they’ve been all night. Jack shrugs. Bitty steps towards him and using a too-long sleeve of his black hoodie, wipes off the blood and dirt that’s on Jack’s face.

“I do my best,” Jack says. Truthfully, he’d do more than his best if it meant he got to see Bitty. He’s not sure what that says about him.

“Jack 110% Zimmermann,” Bitty drawls. He’s still got a hand on Jack’s face so uses that to pull him down for a kiss. His grin is sharp when he pulls back. “See you next time.”

He pulls his hood up and he’s gone as quickly as he appeared.

The bugs start making noise again.

Jack gives himself a minute to enjoy the way his lips are tingling after that parting kiss. Then he deals with the mess at his feet. He rolls up the tarp, tucking the ends in as he rolls so nothing falls out while he walks. He makes sure the truck is locked before bending and then lifting up the dead body in the tarp, making sure to lift with his knees rather than his back.

For some reasons, bodies are always lighter if Bitty was around while they died so Jack has no problem following his path back to the hole he dug while carrying the dead body over his shoulder. He’s hardly sweating by the time he gets back to the hole. He drops the body by the edge and then rolls it into the hole, wincing at the sound it makes when it hits the bottom. It’s a little deeper than he usually digs.

Jack unsticks the shovel from where he stuck it when Bitty showed up. His jaw is sore, and he should probably ice his knees and hands when he gets home but filling the hole is mindless work. It’s good, hard work, something Jack enjoys and find relaxing. And he really enjoys it if it means that he gets to see Bitty.

So Jack digs.

In. Step. Wiggle. Lift. Throw.

Repeat.

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt: _“flirting with death” fucking WEAK catch me sucking deaths dick in a burger king dumpster at 3am_ based on [this textpost](http://savanna.tumblr.com/post/161363178443/loser-boy-flirting-with-death-fucking-weak) minus the burger king dumpster but man, did i try to get that in.
> 
> im on [tumblr](http://pongpalace.tumblr.com/post/166916654428/what-is-he-that-builds-stronger-than-either-the) if you wanna reblog this story and yell about things with me


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